Christmas-Tide
I. ALTHOUGH AT YULE IT BLOWETH COOL
1.Although at Yule it bloweth cool,
And frost doth grip the fingers,
And nip the nose, and numb the toes,
Of out-door carol singers,
2.Through snow or sleet we pace the street,
Fair sirs, with right good reason,
To wish you all, both great and small,
The blessings of the season.
3.We think to spell 'Good news, Nowell,
And eke a wonder story:
The Virgin mild hath born the Child:
E'en God, the King of Glory.'
4.We come to tell how once, o'er dell
And down, in winter-weather,
Led with a star, from lands afar
There rid three kings together.
5.By thoroughfare, through slum or square,
Our Quire the praise rehearses
(As on we pass) of 'Wenceslas'
That 'Good King,' and his mercies.
6.Then we can sing, a pretty thing,
'The Holly and Ivy berry';
But best we ken 'Good gentle men,
God rest you, rest you merry.'
7.'This hind'rest night I saw a sight:'
'A Virgin all unspotted,'
Ne'er be these lays of olden days
Out of remembrance blotted
